


Owl

by Crowsister



Series: Meddling Metas [1]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Original Character-centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tabletop Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 14:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16088039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowsister/pseuds/Crowsister
Summary: Something of an origin story, something of an explanation.Ada Knight is a 14 year old girl in 1987 Gotham City, one of the first victims of Poison Ivy. She's been...less than alright about the whole thing.





	Owl

>   _“At the end of the day, humanity is just plant food. Why not give in?”_

* * *

It’s 2 AM and I’ve just woken up.

Too much energy in my body, shaking with adrenaline. Worst timing. I look over at my closet. Why not clean it?

After a while, I find it in my closet, having kept it secret for so long. My old notepad, a big yellow legal pad stolen from my father’s office. I hadn’t given it a cover, the first five pages of it blank, but I flipped past them to find my old sketches. Suits of robotic technology that my young mind thought up, things lifted straight from the space age comics I’d read back then. Universal translators, flight technology...it was everything that was out of reach. Impossible. Too good for the world that I lived in.

I put it aside, closing it. What did any of that matter? What did _any_ of that matter? I didn’t have enough money to even _try_ making it. But there was...there had to be _something_ that I could reach. Something that I could reach to so that-

_“-if you don’t move faster, I’ll feed you to my babies.”_

I shuddered and took the pad back to my lap. I flipped to a new page, grabbing a pen and slowly sketching a sharp, round symbol across the page like it’d keep the memories away. When I’d seen it on the news, the blurry images in the newspaper, I burned it to memory.

I hugged the pad to my chest, slowly rubbing my right hip where I could still feel the plant’s teeth graze the skin there. I tried to absorb the strength of the Bat on the page—it was the only thing that made sense at the time. I didn’t let myself cry—Mom and Dad were asleep and Aaron’s room was right next door. Aaron always slept lightly. There’d be no point in waking him.

* * *

>   _“The inauspiciousness of the owl is nothing but the inauspiciousness of the man who thinks that owl is inauspicious!”_
> 
> _― Mehmet Murat ildan_

* * *

I inhaled a large gulp of air slowly, staring up at the sky as if it was the cause of my problems.

“Sloppy.” The voice was old and the accent was crisp, sharp. Japanese, maybe.

I slowly sat up, my body sore from my fall. I looked to the source of the voice and found my guess right on the money. It was an old Japanese man, standing with a straight back and sharp eyes. I dusted myself off lightly, still sitting.

“Anymore salt to rub in the wounds?” I asked, tired. My self training was going nowhere. Aaron taught me all the streetfighting he could (or would—hard to tell which) and it’s not like I can ask my parents for boxing lessons again. Mom didn’t want me using that stuff at school.

“No,” the old man answered. “Just sadness at seeing a bird with clipped wings. What kind are you?”

Red flag. Big red flag. Market of red flags. I got to my feet and stumbled a little, feeling an ache in my hip, and he watched me with a shrewd look.

“Not dove,” he replied. “Too haunted for dove. Hawk, maybe?”

“Does your caretaker know you’re out by yourself?” I asked, not responding to his rambling. “Your family? Anyone?”

“Yes,” he answered and didn’t elaborate. “I’ve seen you around the central library. Meet me tomorrow, but take 111th to 86th to the library. Meet you outside.”

“I don’t know what kind of bird you think I am,” I replied, “but we’ve got plenty of self preservation and know not to follow the orders of strange men they’ve never met.”

It was the first time I referred to myself as a _bird_. I left after that, making sure to move fast and hiding in crowds where I could. I made it home and iced my hip for a bit before resting.

The next day, I found myself walking along 111th. I was on my guard at the beginning of it, but the view slowly stripped that away from me. The sky was stupidly clear, ridiculously blue above me and I could only stare in carefully concealed awe at the sight. Shit like that barely happened in Gotham. The sky looked so clear that I could reach up and touch it. I saw 86th come up and, out of morbid curiosity, turned onto it in the direction of the library. I saw rows and rows of buildings, all tall but...all tall in a way that was less obviously-compensating-for-something skyscraper and more tall like a tree. I could see them having handholds, places to climb and places that I could easily jump from rooftop to rooftop. My hip ached, but I just couldn’t help but smile at the sight of so many places to just _run_.

I made it to the library and there he was. The old man. He stood there, watching me as I slowly approached him.

“Too muffled for hawk,” he replied. “Owl.” He tilted his head, looking me in the eye. “Yes. You are an owl. Owl that was taught to move like tiger.”

“I’m going to be honest,” I replied. “I have _no_ idea what that means.”

“That’s what teachers are for,” he replied.

His name was Shirumare. His children had immigrated to Gotham from Japan five years ago, but he’d only been in the city for one. He ran a martial arts dojo but didn’t have the money to buy a separate building, so he ran it out of his home. I can’t tell you how he talked me into following him a block from the library and getting tea, but he did. Sensei was like that: he spoke and did so with an air that his words were to be followed even if they were weird.

“An easy way to explain martial arts is to compare their movements to animals,” he explained, back turned to me as he made tea. “You move like bird, always trying to be light and fast. You touch books with gentleness of feathers. You pause before moving, suggesting bird of prey’s sharp eyes. Your eyes are haunted, touched with a trouble that most can’t or _won’t_ let themselves see. Keep a lot hidden behind face, use face like mask.” He put down the cup in front of me. “So. Owl.”

“Wow, that’s...” I didn’t touch the cup. “A lot. How long have you been watching me?”

“I watch everyone,” he answered. “Everyone is a possible student.” Sensei hummed and turned to make his own cup. “Who tried to teach you to move like a tiger?”

“Uh.” I scratched the back of my head. “My brother taught me how to free run, if that’s what you mean. I guess he’s big and bulky like a tiger. I mean, he has to be to play football.”

Sensei merely huffed. “You are not like him and never will be.”

I sank in my chair a little. “I know.”

He sat down, his own cup in front of him. _“Embrace that.”_ I looked up at him, confused. “You are not him. You lack what he has. A tiger has different options than an owl.” He sipped his tea, humming. “I will fix.”

“What?” I blinked.

“First, we get permission from parents.” He picked up a card. “Go.”

He shuffled me out of his house before I even got tempted to try the tea. I blinked, holding the card. I went home and showed my father the card.

“I’d uh,” I muttered. “I’d like you to call him and talk to him.”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “You’ve never mentioned an interest in martial arts,” he replied. “Thought my girl was all books, no sports.”

“I met him at the library and he was...interesting,” I replied. “Not scary interesting! But I liked talking to him.” I looked down at my feet, trying to hide a smile. “He said he saw potential in me.”

My smile vanished when Dad sighed. “Okay. Lemme talk to him on the phone. Don’t get your hopes up.”

I looked up, biting my lip to stop myself from smiling as I watched him go over to the phone. He motioned me out of the room, so I couldn’t catch their conversation. Hate when adults do that.

* * *

_“Mr. Shirumane?”_

_“This is he. How can I help you?”_

_“My daughter came home with your card-”_

_“Ah, the owl. You must be the father.”_

_“My daughter’s not an owl-”_

_“Smart girl, clever eyes, but she hasn’t been as energetic as usual, has she?”_

_“...”_

_“More tears than usual, comes home with bruises she thinks you don’t see. Possibly snappish?”_

_“...”_

_“I will not lie, Mr. Knight-“_

_“Mr. Hamilton. Ada’s surname is Knight, she’s a foster.”_

_“I will not lie, Mr. Hamilton. Along with being certified to teach martial arts, I also have a degree in psychiatry. You are welcome to visit and check my credentials for yourself. Your daughter and I frequent the same library and it’s very easy to tell that she’s been shaken by something. She’s been kind to me in the past and I’d like to repay that kindness by helping her now.”_

_“What has she done for you?”_

_“Held open doors. Pick up papers for me if I drop them. She helps out everyone here so automatically that I doubt she remembers. Behavior like that deserves its own reward.”_

_“...okay. I’m going to check you out, but if you turn out too shady, do not approach my daughter again.”_

* * *

>   _“Do you think I was born in a wood to be afraid of an owl?”_
> 
> _― Johnathan Swift_

* * *

It was a couple of days until I saw Sensei again. Dad told me that they worked out some kind of deal and to be on my toes.

“It’s Gotham,” I said. “The only people I trust fully are the people that live in this house. And Charles.” It wasn’t a total lie. The notepad was placed into a new hiding place, only brought out on nights where I couldn’t sleep.

Dad nodded, patting me on the shoulder. “I know. Just...be careful, okay?”

“Measure twice, cut once,” I answered, taking one of his old phrases and throwing it back at him. Always got a smile from him when I parroted words back at him and it worked this time.

I walked out to Sensei’s house and he let me in. That’s when our routine started. He wouldn’t teach me any martial arts, “not to start”.

“Have to break away bad teachings,” he explained.

So he’d have me free run in his sight line, correcting my form here and there. Started teaching me flips, made me balance on walls.

“In the owl’s stage of development with flight,” he’d say, “this would be called branching. Hopping from branch to branch. Helps them learn balance and to trust their wings.”

“Well,” I’d reply, “considering that I can’t literally fly because I literally don’t have wings, what does this get me?”

“More options,” Sensei would say.

He’d take me once a week to the zoo, after dinner, and he’d have me watch the owls for an hour. He’d encourage note-taking, so note-take I _did_. How their wings stretched, at what angles. General proportions, coloration. I’d show him my notes and he’d hum, looking them over.

“Missed what I wanted you to see,” he’d say. “We go until you see it.”

At a month, I apparently showed signs of a break through.

“Here,” I grumbled, handing him my notebook.

He looked it over. “You described one of the owls as curious.”

“Yeah, that was the one that kept coming over to the net to look at us,” I replied. “That was the barn owl that they’re rehabilitating, the one the zookeeper told us that the police found in some wannabe crimelord’s lair as his godfather cat.”

“Focus on that one on our next visit,” he replied. I didn’t ask why—sometimes, there was no answer to why and this felt like one of those times.

I followed instructions. The barn owl was pretty, not anything you’d see in Gotham outside of maybe a migratory fly over. It always came over and gave us a lookover when we entered and always kept in our sight lines. Its wings were kinda messed up, something about the muscles atrophying because the asshole kept its wings locked to its body. It was a miracle that it let anyone near it, according to the zookeeper that’d hover around us while we were there.

Near the end of the month and a half, the zookeeper offered to bring it out of the bird enclosure so we could get a closer look. Sensei accepted and the zookeeper gave me a bird-handling glove that was too big for me. They put on their own glove and then went inside. They came back out with the owl on the glove and time just seemed to slow for me.

“She’s a little jumpy sometimes,” the zookeeper said. “So if she glides over to you, it’s okay. She just likes having a lot of places to perch.”

“After what she went through, I don’t blame her,” I replied.

The owl and I sort of stared at each other, awkwardly. Sensei stood there, impassive as ever, and the zookeeper just kept checking the owl to make sure she was fine. But then things seemed to snap as the owl hopped up from the zookeeper’s glove and moved over to mine. I held my hand as still as I could, staring at it. Everything felt a little electrified.

The owl hooted at me, quiet and with big, black eyes.

“It’s okay,” I muttered, “you didn’t scare me.”

She tilted her head and hooted again.

“I’m sure,” I muttered. “This is nice.”

The zookeeper let us socialize for a couple of minutes before taking the owl back to the enclosure. Sensei let me write my notes in peace as my mind whirred. The owl kept as close as she could in the enclosure, watching me with her big eyes. I finished my notes and gave her a smile, waving. Sensei and I left and I steeled myself for his response.

“You wrote the owl as considerate,” he replied.

I gave a sheepish smile. “She uh...seemed like it? She probably wasn’t hooting to check if I was okay with being a perch, but like. Easiest explanation to someone who hasn’t read up on owl behaviors.”

“You also label her as a tiny soulmate.”

I looked away from him, not wanting to see his face at that. “Yeah. I’ve got no rational explanation for that. Everything just felt...more in focus? Like when I first fixed my family’s toaster.”

He put his hand on my shoulder and I looked up to see him smiling. “You’re understanding what I want you to understand. We go to zoo every other week now.”

* * *

>   _“I'm a bit of a night owl because that's when I feel the most creative and alive.”_
> 
> _― Christina Aguilera_

* * *

At night during my time of being taught by Sensei, I was suffering less and less from nightmares. I didn’t have to rely on my comfort item of the Bat symbol to sleep. I took what Sensei taught me about meditation and I put it to sleep.

“You’re doing better,” Sensei said as I walked along a wall in the alley outside his home.

I grinned at him. “Thanks, that tip about adjusting my footwork-”

“No. You’re sleeping better,” Sense replied. “Good.”

He never remarked on it again, but that scene made me proud of getting better sleep. Sensei made what seemed like small stuff big achievements sometimes.

* * *

I sometimes saw Sensei’s other students as they left. He didn’t have that many other students, from what I could tell. There was me, a man, and a woman.

The woman was the one I saw the most, I think because she had the session time right before me. She was tall and I had a fleeting theory that she was biologically related to me somehow since she looked like me but y’know. An adult. Actually grown into her limbs. No acne scarring. Life put together. I caught a glance of her eyes and they were electric green. Her black hair was shorter than mine, styled in a rebelliously, messy way that I’d only see on fashion magazines. She always wore leather, black leather, and it looked more expensive than my whole closet put together. Carried a tote bag where sometimes a cream-colored cat would lean its head out and inspect the surroundings before meowing for attention. She’d always see me, give me a playful smile and wink as she’d leave. Sensei would call her Cat in a warning tone on her way out and she’d laugh and give me another wink.

I saw the man sometimes. He was tall, brusque. He always seemed dirty, but dirty couldn’t hide the aristocratic features he had. Sometimes it seemed like he was trying to get out with the least amount of people noticing him, so I’d pause and keep a nonchalant lookout. I’d give him a signal when it was clear and he’d flash me a grateful grin before vanishing out into the world. Never knew what animal Sensei considered him, but I think he moved a bit like how Sensei wanted me to move: light and cautious.

* * *

Aaron, at this point, was finally curious about where I was going. After the Ivy Incident, he was getting more and more...watchful? Concerned? He’d check in on me more often, his opinion seeming to shift from “annoying nerd little sister I’ve got to keep safe” to “sister who worries me”.

“Where do you go all the time, Lynnie?” he asked.

I staunchly ignored him, tinkering with a bit of wiring for the heater. It had acted up last winter and Dad still hadn’t gotten someone to look at it, which was as open a challenge as any to me.

Aaron sighed, “Seriously, Ada-”

“Oh, I hadn’t realized you were there, _Ronnie_ ,” I drawled, biting back a smirk.

He ruffled my hair, getting me to put down my tools. “Ada, where’ve you been going?”

“I’ve got a Sensei,” I answered. “Dad’s met him and talked with him. He’s been teaching me to do flips and stuff. No martial arts yet, but I think we’re getting there.”

“Huh.” Aaron blinked. “That’s...that’s not what I was expecting.”

“I’ve got _moves_ , bro, you don’t even know,” I boasted, smirking. I hummed, tilting my head at him. “What _were_ you expecting?”

“Honestly? Thought maybe you might’ve been looking for the Batman,” he answered.

I shook my head. “You don’t go out _looking_ for the Batman, Aaron,” I replied. “He comes looking for _you_.”

* * *

>   _“An owl is traditionally a symbol of wisdom, so we are neither doves nor hawks but owls, and we are vigilant when others are resting.”_
> 
> _― Urjit Patel_

* * *

Thankfully, I wasn’t the one that found Sensei dead. That was his third daughter. He’d died peacefully in his sleep, comfortable in his bed.

Mom took me to his funeral and we were all given a tiny baggie of his ashes. He’d, apparently, wanted to be placed in places where he had affected people the most and wanted his family and students to place his ashes there. I went home with Mom, gently holding the tiny silk bag with a part of Sensei in it. The next day, I went out in the city and found the alleyway that he had watched me fall from bad free-running form and put half of the ashes there. The other half I took to the zoo, hiding it in the guests’ side of the bird enclosure. My owl watched me with big eyes and I gave her a teary smile.

“Sensei’s dead, so I probably won’t be coming anymore,” I told her through the glass. “Be strong, okay?”

On my way out, I saw the woman that Sensei had called Cat. She was standing by the panther enclosure, stuck in a bit of a staring contest with a panther inside of it. I slowly approached and stood next to her.

“Hi Cat,” I replied quietly.

She looked over at me and gave me a small grin. “Hey Owl. You left him here too, huh?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “He’d always have me watch the owls at night.”

“He’d make me watch the cats,” she replied. “You have dignity and grace, but you need to learn playfulness, he’d say.”

“I always had to learn patience,” I replied, chuckling a bit. “I wonder where the other guy left him.”

“Oh, Lockley? Lockley left Sensei by their favorite diner,” Cat answered. She held out a hand. “I’m Selina, by the way.”

I took it. “Ada.”

“I feel like ice cream,” Selina replied. “You want some?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have any money-”

“On me, this time,” Selina replied with a small grin.

Selina took me to one of the carts in the zoo and let me pick out some ice cream. She got herself some and we walked in the zoo for a while, swapping stories about Sensei.

“Did he ever tell you about karma?” Selina asked.

“Kind of,” I answered. “Something like destiny, right?”

“Kind of,” she replied. “He’d always say that the universe had a plan for us and if we went according to plan, everything would turn out fine. If we strayed from the plan, we’d get lost. Our true selves know the plan.”

“Okay, but what’s our true selves?” I asked. “How can anyone know that?”

“That’s why Sensei always gave us animal names,” Selina answered. “He’d see personality bits in all of us, match it to an animal, then sell it as Japanese mysticism and wisdom to give us a direction.”

I blinked. “The animal thing was just...a clever rhetorical device?”

“Yep,” Selina answered. “How’d he put it? Sometimes humans are too stubborn to hear things, so sometimes dressing it up as something else and letting them filter it out as what they wanted to hear was the way to go. It was his way of helping his students find their strengths so we could follow them.”

“Huh,” I replied. “Anything else you know that he didn’t get to explain?”

Selina took her finger and gently booped my nose. “Do what you enjoy, what makes you happy, what you’re good at. Surround yourself with people that make you happy. Everything else takes care of itself. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” I lied.

She laughed. “You don’t get it.”

A couple days later, Selina showed up at my door and charmed my mom into letting her take me to a costume party. One of Sensei’s last wishes, supposedly. It was some Gotham elite’s attempt to recreate the Venetian Carnival in Gotham. She took me out to get ready.

We went to a store to look for dresses. I found something with a price tag that didn’t give me a headache, the least gaudy dress that was a nice tawny grey.

“So, Sensei would always say that masks are a way to release your true self,” Selina replied. She then gave me the “Do what you enjoy” speech again. “Understand?”

“Yes, Selina.”

She chuckled. “No, you don’t.

We went to another store to look at accessories. I found flats that matched the dress and a nice shawl, some imitation of the Cleopatra shaw from that old Elizabeth Taylor movie (thankfully not gold). Selina gave me the speech again. “Understand?”

“Yes, Selina.”

“No, you don’t.”

I was starting to get annoyed. We went looking for masks, something I couldn’t rent, and we found a copper-y colored paper mache mask that was my size with the eye holes distinctly owl-shaped with a small beak over my nose.

“Understand?”

“Yes, Selina.”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

Selina took me back to her flat, helping me get ready. Right before we entered the party, she gave me the speech again.

“Understand?”

“Who?” It’d been an impulse, smartass answer I made while adjusting my mask.

She gave me a cat-like grin, her own mask glittering on her face. “There you go, kid. Now you’re getting it.”

We spent the party side-by-side, both of us out of the limelight. She muttered gossip to me about all the rich people around us and I spent the whole night trying to make sure I didn’t burst out laughing. She seemed more interested in the art than the people and would talk about that when it’d been too risky to whisper about the people.

She took me home that night and waited for me to change out of the stuff we rented. I went to give her back the mask and she made me keep it. “Sensei would want you to have it,” she replied. “He did the same shit to me.”

“I’ll have to pull that on someone else,” I joked quietly. “Continue the cycle.”

She laughed. “Stay safe, Owl.”

“You too, Cat,” I replied.

And like that, Selina disappeared from my life.

* * *

>   _“The Bat that flits at close of Eve  
>  __Has left the Brain that won't believe.  
>  __The Owl that calls upon the Night  
>  __Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.”_
> 
> ―William Blake

* * *

My sleep got worse again after that. Had nightmares of vines suffocating me, of trying to run away from fanged plants and being unable to escape. Without Sensei, the meditation stuff seemed to wear off. Or maybe it was that I had more energy again without Sensei drilling me all the time.

Remembering the lesson of following impulse, I sat in my room and put on the owl mask. I meditated for a minute before putting the owl mask into my closet, heading out for one of the mom and pop fabric stores down the street. I bought a quarter yard of black fabric and some sewing scissors with my allowance, then went back home. It took me almost all the fabric to get a small patch of it to be the shape that I wanted: a small, choppy copy of the Bat symbol that was still etched into my mind.

I tried sewing it into my jacket myself, my own patch, but I must’ve triggered Aaron’s big brother senses with my soft ow’s because he came as I was trying to thread a needle.

“What’re you doing, Ada?” he asked.

“Trying to sew in a patch,” I answered.

“You know that-”

I interrupted him with a glare and he blinked at it. He then sighed, weary, and sat next to me.

“Gimme the needle, I’ll do it,” he replied, “otherwise, you’ll stab yourself in the eye.”

My shoulders drooped. I slowly handed him my project. “Thanks, Aaron.”

“Any time,” he replied.

Mom and Dad were less accepting with my newest patch. Mom tried to be tactful, but got frustrated quickly with how I wasn’t agreeing with her. Dad plain out said their worst fears.

“That symbol’s gonna get you jumped,” he’d say. “The wrong people will be mad about that symbol,” he’d say. “The police will think you’re helping him,” he’d say.

“I don’t care,” I’d say. And I didn’t: I’d sleep at night with the jacket spread over me like a blanket and it was like Sensei’s meditation was working all over again.

The arguments happened a lot. It culminated in Mom taking it out when she was washing the jacket and giving it back to me. Like she thought I wouldn’t notice.

“Where is it?” i asked.

“Where’s what?” she answered.

“The Bat patch,” I growled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dad replied.

I felt tears in my eyes, but I didn’t care. “Please, that symbol-”

“That symbol’s dangerous-”

“THIS CITY IS DANGEROUS.” I clenched my fists. “GO OUT TO THE PARK ONE DAY AND BAM, MAN-EATING PLANTS. ANYWHERE I GO, EVERYTHING’S BOUND TO BE DANGEROUS. THAT SYMBOL MAKES ME FEEL SAFE BECAUSE BATMAN?” I inhaled, looking down at my feet. I had to remember Sensei. “I was helping an old man. He’d lost his cane and he wasn’t moving fast enough for _her_ . I helped him and we moved along and that was apparently not _fast enough_ .” I inhaled deeper. “Some of her plants were corralling us. Sharp teeth. We couldn’t move fast enough, he got a bite taken out of him and I kicked its maw.” I unclenched my hands. “She started monologuing about the cruelties of humanity as one of her bigger plants wrapped around me. It didn’t get a good grip before I heard a shink noise. I looked over and it was a metal version of the symbol, stuck into the vine with blinking red lights. Blinked once, twice, BOOM.” I clapped my hands together. “I was covered in plant viscera and safe on the ground. I looked up and saw _him_. I got the old man out of there and got him to an ambulance.”

They were both silent. I left the room. I found my jacket on a chair the next day with the patch sewed back in.

We never talked about it again.


End file.
